Should be his
by Ianthesmall
Summary: Severitus. Harry is in fifth year and weird things are going on after the worst summer he can think to imagine, but after a weird run in by the one-eyed witch, he's not sure that the ministry is the only thing wrong with him this year. Warnings: self-harm, rape, child abuse, etc.
1. Chapter 1

"In class! He did it in class? How stupid can the boy be? She is a professor not one of those little Gryffindors, who are turning on him! She's with the Ministry for Merlin's sake!"

McGonagall sighed. "I know, Severus. I was aware her bitchiness came from under Fudge."

Severus looked surprised. "Why, McGonagall, I would have never expected you to be so crass."

She rolled her eyes. "She brings out the worst in me I'm afraid."

Severus grinned. "With my son as well."

She glared. "You should tell him, Severus. He could use the support now. Everyone has left him or betrayed him one too many times for him to go to them. Myself included."

"And you think he wants me? Minerva, you have truly gone completely mental as one of my students would say."

"Or your son," she added with impish intent.

He glared at her. "Or my son," he conceded.

"Well, I am not mental, Severus Snape," she said with an imperial air around her. "I know what the boy wants and what he needs, and both of those has always been a family that loves him unconditionally. You are undoubtedly the only one who could provide."

He snorted. "You are delusional as well then. My son would never want to know I am his father. He has a family, a godmutt, and friends. He has no need for me."

"That family has never been his, I assure you. He has never gone home on holidays to them or rarely even speaks of his home or his summers there. His godfather, while having his heart in the right place, has never been a mature adult one can lean on even before the weight of Azkaban was on his mind and mental health, and as for his friends, they have always been children. He needs an adult to care for him. Your son needs you."

"My son is a handsome, smart, athletic, sociable young man. He does not need me nor would he want me."

"You tell yourself that to mask how much you love and want to know him."

"And so what if I do? Masks are meant to be worn. They were created for such a use."

"Masks are deceiving. What do you think your son uses to hide his pain?"  
With that, she stormed down the hallway, turning into her feline form as she stalked. She was surprised to smell the other presence hiding behind the statue, but it could not be helped now. Harry at least knew some things and could put it together himself easily.

000

Harry stood there staring at the one-eyed witch statue's back. He blinked, then did it again, and once he realized he had yet to breathe again, he let out the breath he had been holding. He pinched himself and then gave his face a quick slap just to be sure. _Not a dream then._

 _Snape's son. I'm Snape's bloody son!_

He was the only person he knew who had yelled at the pink puff ball of shit and lies that was Umbitch, and so that also made him Snape's son. Snape's of all people. But how and why and where and when and what?! And if so, why was he living with his god-awful relatives if Snape was alive and well, and well, his… father? _Because you're an evil freak that no one will ever want or could ever love,_ his mind, greatly nursed by his Uncle's hatred, happily supplied.

No, he was that of course, but Snape seemed to be under the impression that he would hate the idea, and while not thrilled over who his father was, the idea he had someone out there who could love him and give him the family he had always wanted was too good of an opportunity to make his greatest desire to come true to pass up. Though the idea that Snape loved him was laughable, but McGonagall, the surprisingly insightful witch that she was, had said Snape loved him, and as all her other insights had been so spot on, he found it hard to dismiss her thoughts on the matter. But one issue was Snape seemed not to want to tell him, and well, Harry didn't know how to really bring this up. He was crouched in a secret tunnel with his hand bleeding and in a great deal of pain. How did one broach the subject of secret paternity learned in those circumstances?

He needed to do something to get past the man, but he was just standing there only about ten feet away from the statue. Harry sighed and gave up trying to be sly about this. He whispered the password, sliding out from behind the statue and creeping in the other direction of Snape. He was almost down the hall when he heard the one man he did not want to see right now shout his name. "Potter!"

Harry closed his eyes and stood stalk still. "Shite," he hissed under his breath.

The man was already storming his way to him with that stalking walk he did. It was almost interesting to think that maybe he could get his robes to billow like that since it had to be genetic (or he hoped at least cos it was bloody brilliant). Then he remembered he was here in the hall far from Umbitch's office after curfew and out of bed, and Snape, while also his father, was the most ruthless, Potter hating teacher to live. Or at least Harry had thought so until like ten minutes ago.

The man grabbed his elbow and turned him about. Harry sucked in a breath at the contact. His elbow was still hurting severely from Uncle Vernon throwing him around before he left, and the touch to his elbow had hurt him more than he would care to ever admit to Snape. He hid the pain, deciding to keep face with the dour potions master turned father. "Sir," he hissed.

The man's eyebrow lifted to his hairline. Harry wondered if he was supposed to look like Snape or if he had just gotten lucky and inherited everything from his mother but then there was something he wasn't even admitting to himself beneath his glamours. _Man, I am so out of it right now. Where are these thoughts even coming from? But that eyebrow thing is kinda cool. Bet I could do it._

He realized he was getting off track again and looked back to the man. "Turning into a snake, Potter," Snape said with the usual bite and venom.

 _Ha, bite and venom. Get it?_

"That is two words you have hissed at me."

He felt surprised for a moment and confused. Had he switched to parseltongue without even realizing it? Had he done it before, and if not, why was he doing it right now? "Um… I-I…"

The man rolled his eyes and shifted his position. He folded his arms across his chest and made it look as if he had no care about this at all but was intimidating at the same time. Kinda like a 'I don't care about you, but I will make your life Hell if you lie.' Harry had seen it many times, but now that he knew, observing the man was more of a priority. Did he stand like that? Did he roll his eyes like that? His arms definitely didn't tense like that because he was a stick and didn't have that kinda muscle in his arms. Why did Snape?

"Fine, Potter, let's move on to easier questions for the sake of your mind and my sanity, shall we?"

And to think the man had called him smart not ten minutes ago? _Can't remind him of that now though._

"What is a Gryffindor like yourself doing in the third floor corridor after curfew? I am certain Gryffindor tower is on the seventh floor."

The harshness of his words was making the slight pain-filled haze around his mind fall away and anger was ebbing forward. "Needed a stroll to clear the cobwebs from my head. Not that that has ever helped me any. I am eternally dimwitted, as you well know."

At least he now knew where his sarcasm came from and his pessimistic outlook on life. The man scowled in anger. "The truth, Mr. Potter. I am aware you do not wander aimlessly. You must be up to something. Is there a damsel in need of rescue? A monster in need of slaying? Come now, there is always a reason."

Harry felt the anger turn into a cold rage. How dare the man talk about any of that, especially after last year. After Cedric… Well, no one should bring that up. Not Snape, not anyone. Harry knew it was his fault. He didn't need the sodding git to bring it up. He was already guilty enough as it was. He channelled the anger into his sardonic mind. "Oh, but I do wander aimlessly. I wander impertinently and stalk the halls like I own them. Quite like my _father_ ," he said with a significant look at Snape.

The man seemed to pale then shake his head, probably to reassure himself that Harry didn't know anything. Oh, how wrong the man was. Not really often he could claim this except really any time the man mentioned him. Really for a father, he knew nothing of his son beyond the regular mask he wore for the school populace.

"Potter, I am losing what little patience I can have with you. Now why are you out here?"

Harry's resilience at not letting the man know about his hand almost fell. He would kill Umbitch for what she did to him. _No, no. He wasn't a real father. He wouldn't care about me. No one does._

He steeled himself for the next paree. "I came to be an arrogant ass, just like my _father_ , and just as stubborn too!"

The look this time couldn't be mistaken. He jutted out his chin almost nodding to the man and glared at the man. He was sure it could not be misinterpreted, and though he didn't want to hear his father tell him to get lost that he didn't want him just like everyone else, the waiting would have been ten times worse. "Potter, do you know something?"

The man was peering at him, searching him so hard he had to be trying to peer inside his mind, but Harry didn't look into his eyes but glared at his nose. He felt a burst of rebellious indignation for all the lies that had had too adverse an effect on his life that countered his nervousness. "I know a lot of things, Professor," he hissed this time on purpose, "counter to what you believe about me," he said flippantly, and was greatly amused to see the anger in the man's eyes, "so you will have to be a quite bit more specific," he said with one more enhancing hiss.

The man scowled darkly and took a menacing step forward. He heard the man growl and resisted the reaction to cower into a protective stance to preserve his head from a hit. The man had never hit him and would probably never do so, and as well as he knew this, he could never resist his inherent instincts, which was why his hands still warded off the attack and his eyes closed to protect them. He waited for his proof that even his true father hated him enough to beat him, but no hit came.

He opened his eyes and was surprised to see Snape looking at him in confusion and was that… fear. "Did you think I would hit you?"

The true undeniable shock and pain in Snape's voice threw Harry off. Why wouldn't he think that he'd get hit? He scoffed at the man though when his defenses threw themselves up. "No, of course not."

The man sneered and rolled his eyes in an over exaggerated way that Harry could remember doing to Dudley so many times. _Oh Merlin! He is my father!_

"Yes, of course not, Potter. People only throw up their arms to ward off an attack for their own amusement."

 _Wow! Am I this bad as well?_

Harry glared and sneered like the bat himself. "Why do you happen to care, Professor?"

The man looked like Harry had just slapped him and seen a ghost at the same time, and Harry reviewed his actions and realized just how much like Snape he had sounded. _Freaky!_

"Harry… I."

Harry rolled his eyes at the usually composed man's weakness. "Just leave me alone."

The man seemed to gather himself then and took a step forward. "No, Harry, I will not just leave you alone. It is not normal for a child to flinch from someone who has never attempted to hurt them."

Harry thought about how much his family had hurt him, beaten him, hated him. All family hurt him, eventually. Sure, Snape had never hit him, but there was a time when Uncle Vernon hadn't as well, and that time was way past now. If he let Snape, he'd end up just the same. "Not physically hurt, but you aren't innocent either, Professor."  
The man didn't seem to even be listening to him anymore, and Harry was slightly put out that his theatrics that he'd obviously gotten from his father were wasted. Then he realized the man's gaze had caught on his hand. His eyes widened, and he brought his hand behind his back. The man's gaze finally reached his gaze again, and there was an anger and concern directed at him this time. The man took a step forward and while maybe not meant to be it was menacing as always. Harry took an involuntary step back in reaction.

"What happened to your hand, Potter?"  
He scowled. "Nothing," he hissed.

The man raised an eyebrow. "I know I saw blood, Potter. Now let me see it," he barked.

"No!"

He couldn't let the man see. He'd tell him he deserved it for being such an ungrateful brat, and he wouldn't care it hurt or that Harry had to do it to himself. Well, he was used to hurting himself, but not like that without his control and his say. Not for someone else's pleasure, and he was sure that was what he saw on Umbitches's face. "Stop being so disrespectful and obey me!"

Harry reared back, feeling as if he'd been smacked by the man this time. "Disrespectful? Me? What about you, Sir? Is disgracing a dead man respectful or honorable when they are not around to defend their memory? Is it being a bully to a kid who never even knew you or the parents you hate? Respect, Sir… you don't know the word. Respect would mean coming clean to someone you care about when a secret is over their entire lives… but hey, maybe you just don't care about him," he said with a shrug of fake indifference.

And, hey, maybe he didn't care about him, but he couldn't lie to himself and tell himself that was okay. He cared that Snape did save him all the time, but he cared even more that he didn't want him as his son, not really, not how it mattered. "Harry, I…"

Harry turned on the man. "Forget it, Professor."

Then he walked away, aware the man was still standing there, watching him too stunned to move. He went to the common room right away where Ron and Hermione were waiting on him. He told them about his terrible detention, and Hermione, ever the brightest witch of their year, used some essence of Murtlap to help heal his wounds quicker.

He couldn't tell them about Snape. Not yet anyway He just wasn't sure about telling them. Hermione would probably understand and encourage him to get over his differences and bond with the man who sired him. Gross and not what he wanted to hear right now about the slimy git. Ron would likely turn on him just like last year for something he no way wanted or could control, like who got to pick the man that loved their mother.

No way. He would just slowly let it eat away at him, saying nothing to anyone. Yap, sounded like a great fucking plan. He left them there going over homework under the guise of needing some rest and drew the curtains around his bed. He removed his potions knife from under his pillow and stared at it while he contemplated his new reason to hate himself.

'So unlovable his father couldn't even stand him. Check!'

It was such a great way to leave a detention with Umbitch calling him a lying bastard. He took the knife and sliced his thigh. Arms were where people went wrong or right since they wanted to get caught, Harry just wanted to feel in control of his body for once. Well, now he wouldn't get caught. So, he cut a slice for each wrong of today and ended with six. He let them bleed for a moment, tilting his head back with a moan of bliss, before he clotted them with a spell before lying down to sleep.

He could breathe now. He could feel the peace the pain and the purge brought, blocking out all the people telling him he was worthless, deceitful, stupid, ungrateful, unnatural, unlovable, evil. Then he slept.

XXX

"Worthless."

Harry whimpered, curling away from them.

"Freak."

A moan of pain.

"Your own parents died to get away from you."

A scream of denial.

"Sirius won't even talk to you." Thrashing about. "Why would he, you're just an ungrateful whelp?"

Groans of pain.

"No one loves you."

Wounded murmurs.

"You're a bastard of a common slag, and look at your father…"

Thoughts of a horse-faced woman.

"He hates you."

Shivers wrack the small frame.

"He could never be proud of you. How could he love you?"

Tears flowing down drawn cheekbones.

"Trash," flinch. "Useless, hated… Evil! Liar!"

Sobs wracking the chest open.

"Can't even keep your friends without lying."

Shaking in fear, scratching the torso.

"How could anyone expect you to kill the Dark Lord? You're weak, pathetic, unlovable!"

Clawing at the neck.

The last face has red hair, green eyes. "Mum," disgust covers her face.

"How could I ever love you?"

XXX

He woke up gasping for air. He looked around hoping no one was there, letting out a sigh of relief as he saw that his silencing spells on the curtains must have held up. After a summer of being beaten for complaints by his Uncle over his nightmares, he could not imagine his friend's faces after hearing him. He wiped the tears from his cheeks, feeling so hollow after hearing his parents, friends, and enemies tell him how despised he was, that the blood on his hands didn't even register. They hadn't have bothered. He knew his place well after fourteen years with the Dursley's loving kindness to show him. It had been ingrained in him from the beginning at their home.

He got up and took his knife and his wand with him to the loo. He locked and warded the door to satisfaction before sitting on the toilet with his head in his hands. He had to sleep half-naked these days and still woke up covered in sweat and this time blood from the wounds open on his chest and neck. He raised his boxers and rubbed his fresh cuts before moving down the leg and drawing a few more. He made one longer and let them all bleed while he leaned back on the toilet, drinking in the bliss. He closed his eyes, keeping the peace it brought him, while he thought of all his pain, all the bad bleeding out of him.

He raised up, casting a quick spell to clot the cuts and scratches he'd gained. He swished his wand to clean himself and the toilet of any of his blood before going to the mirror. He saw his reflection looking out at him. The hair was different this year, cut short, but it wasn't as messy either. It seemed almost feathery now. He didn't know how though.

The face to any onlookers looked just as tan, just as rounded and boyish, but beneath his glamour was a hard-carved jaw, sharp cheek bones from lack of food, and a slightly longer nose. He could guess now why he'd changed so much considering who his father was. Maybe he had just looked like James Potter in passing. He took off his glasses and was surprised to find he could see. He'd rather they were gone anyway. He hated them, and they made it foggy and his head hurt. He tossed them into the rubbish bin and checked his glamours since he still needed to hide the hunger look of his face and the deep black circles under his eyes. No one needed to see those. No one would have card anyway.

He left the loo and headed to his bed. It was still dark out, probably five if he was guessing. He shrugged and pulled on some jeans, an old shirt, and his cloak before finding his shoes and broom to go. He went down to the common room and out the portrait, more than happy that no one had woken up yet. He left behind the sleeping portrait hole and ran his way up to the top of the astronomy tower. He smirked when he saw it empty and stepped to the edge of the large opening, mounting his broom for takeoff.

He kicked off into the skies, his body twisting the broom into barrel roles before shooting skyward, letting the wind streak through him. It only took that first little burst of wind whipping through his hair and his body to feel the only happiness he had felt in years to come back over him again. Harry was made to fly.


	2. Chapter two: yes, I am alive

Severus scowled at the fireplace. He had just finished talking with Albus over where the boy had been last night since he could not stop his worry and anxiety over the boy. Detention with Umbridge, but he'd found the boy in the charms hall far from Umbridge's classroom and bleeding. The boy had also been spitting sarcastic barbs as a defense made to get a rise out of Severus, and he knew why if the boy had heard him and Minerva talking, because Harry had figured it out and without all the information. The little he had condemned Severus in seconds as a heartless bastard who hated his only son. While he was a bastard, he wasn't heartless nor hating of his own offspring.

He needed to talk to the boy, explain to him the truth. Then there was also what the boy could tell him. He had flinched, protected his face, a reflex so honed he could not stop it when feeling attacked. And while he hoped the boy would not think he would hurt him, he had also hoped he would never have a reason to develop that specific reflex, like his father before him. The reflex was not one of battle that his school exploits would warrant. It was too honed for his tastes, and he would find out how this had happened.

The Dursleys were to have supposed to have given the boy the childhood Severus had been unable to gift due to Death Eaters, Magic, and a whole infamy over his son's name. No, it was supposed to be better for him there, being a pampered prince, aloof to the wizarding world and all the evils. Besides, he was not exactly what people called father material, he did not deserve to be, and no one would allow that of him to his own child. The Boy-Who-Lived.

No, he was Death Eater scum, better to watch over him from afar, but if Harry knew, then he would have to tell the boy all of this. He would just have to make him understand, and he would love it. Hate Severus even with familial ties. He would be ecstatic because no one could want him as a father. He knew that for a fact.

He should have been his little boy. He should have been the one to take him after his love had died. He should have been the one to carry the boy, hold him, and protect him. The one who taught the boy how to talk, to potty train him, to be there when he bad nightmares… He should have been the one to teach him to ride a bike, took him to his first day of school, to be there when he got his Hogwarts letter, to take him to Diagon Alley the first time. He should have been there as his son's guide. He should have been everything or at least a father.

He stood from his ponderings ready to walk off the thoughts for his focus. He left his rooms and the dungeons behind and went for outside air. He left out the front and was assaulted by the rising sun. He smiled slightly at the daybreak and then turned away toward the grounds of Hogwarts. His eyes swept over them, but just as he was about to walk toward the Forest to search for potions ingredients, he saw a thing flying in the sky that looked shockingly like a boy on a broomstick.

Windswept, black hair cut into sight. Harry. It was his son by the black hair and the death defying stunts that child was pulling. For four years, Severus had sat in the stands on pins and needles as he watched the child break bones and fall through the sky and choke on a snitch and play chicken with bloody dragons of all things. He had had so many near heart-attacks and overdoses of calming draughts that he was sick of watching his child not take heed of his life. Severus would not stand by now. "Potter!" he bellowed with the help of a wandless Sonorous charm.

The boy yelped and fell from his broom. Severus groaned internally. How his child could do such graceful things on a broom but fall with one loss of concentration was beyond him. He cursed himself inside his own head for being careless. He yelled out the Aresto Momentum charm and then guided the boy down close to him. He caught the boy as he fell and called the boy's broom to him with an accio. He was mildly shocked to have the child in his arms and even more shocked to realize the fifth year weighed so little.

The boy squirmed, letting Severus know his discomfort, and Severus placed him down in front of him, close enough to snatch the child up if he ran again. He was in no mood for chase today. Severus caught the boy's broom in his hand and handed it to the child who still wasn't looking at him. He guessed that was the embarrassment from falling and hopefully not anger.

Scratch that, it was anger he realized as the boy snatched his broom and scowled up at him. "You could have killed me!" he bellowed.

Severus rolled his eyes at the boy's dramatics. He could have killed him when the boy had already been doing those feats of aerodynamics. "You were doing stunts out here alone much more dangerous than my calling your name, Potter."

The boy scowled and turned to storm off. Severus snatched the boy's broom from him before he could get far and was rewarded with the boy whirling on him. "Give me my fucking broom back!"

Severus was almost sure the world around them stopped for a moment. He saw red in his vision as he realized what his child, his son had just said to him. The boy was no longer a student in his eyes and finding himself seeing his son there, he stuffed down the usual cold retort and gripped the boy's ear in a pincher like hold. The boy yelped and pulled, but Severus was already frog-marching him back to the castle, tuning out his child's pleas and indignant cries.

Once the boy started to insult him he was due to stop just past the entrance hall. "Quiet," he hissed, "Or do you want people to see me pulling you like a toddler by your ear while you throw a tantrum?"

He was rewarded with silence. He went forward down into the dungeons, bypassing his office and classroom as he had established this was no longer his student he was punishing. He went straight to his rooms, hissing the password out between clenched teeth and dragging the boy into the room by his ear. He didn't bother with words as he threw the broom to the side of his den and sat on his armchair. He pulled the stunned child in front of him where he had to look down at him and fired three quick swats to the boy's bottom.

It took him no longer than a second, and the boy's first cries were indignant and of a much too bratty child than what Severus knew Harry was. "What in the bloody fuck?!"

Severus swatted him twice more, and that was okay, he was fine with waiting for the boy's contrition. He watched the shock role over his son's face, and that was when Severus knew was his time to lecture the little whelp.

"Now that, you are aware this is happening, and I do not intend to let you go after what you have said to me, I will be telling you the error of your actions. Not only did you scream at me, but you also cursed at me, Harry, and all adults deserve much more respect than that, young man. No son of mine is going to talk like that to anyone, do you understand, Harry James?"

The boy looked at him with pleading eyes. He looked so broken and one glimpse into his mind showed how much the scolding broke the boy. "Please, stop, Sir."

Severus shook his head. "Harry, that is not an answer. You are such a good boy, I know you understand your behavior was not the kind of boy I know you are. Don't you, child?"

The boy looked completely heartbroken as he burst into sobbing apologies. Severus shook his head. He had waited for this moment, and he had been wanting to see the boy's actual sorrow for what he had done (not for any nefarious means, but for the lesson) and the way he had acted, and the sobs were indicating he could finish his lecture without the use of his hand to get his attention again.

He loosened his hold on the child's arms and waited for the child to stop sobbing. He was slightly surprised to find the boy was so beside himself in tears that he could not stop. Severus found this to be the most unplanned forthcoming as he could not get the child to talk because of his tears. He made the move for the boy and grabbed him under the arms to pick him up. The child's crying increased, and Severus was at a loss of what to do, so he placed the boy back in his spot.

'Child cries when left and when to be moved. What do I do then?'

He was then reminded that when younger children are spanked, they required comfort to understand they were forgiven and loved and not rejected for their bad behavior. He rolled his eyes and began patting the child's back. "Hush now, Harry. There is no need to cry so hard over a spanking."

The child's breath hitched. "Y-you h-hate m-me!"

Severus rolled his eyes again but started rubbing the child's back. "I loathe myself too much, so I cannot pull the energy from that to hate you. You got only the good… well, besides the stubbornness and sarcasm. That I could have lived to see die out."

"You're making fun of me!"

Severus raised his free arm to the sky in a plea for holy intervention. "No, I am not. I understand, Harry."

"No, you don't! No one does!"

Severus sighed. Teen anxe. "It does seem that way most days, but you would be surprised."

The boy's sniffles were all he heard, and then red-rimmed green eyes stared back at him. Severus had to wonder how he'd missed the boy's glasses being missing or the fact that the child was so young. "You wouldn't understand. I know it."

Severus cocked a brow. "Why not take a seat, that is not my lap, and we can discuss this lack of understanding on my part?"

The boy blushed and moved back from Severus, but he did not sit down. Severus would settle for winning small battles for now. "You wouldn't understand. If you did, you wouldn't have kept secrets from me."

Severus let out a sigh. "So, you did hear and figure it out?"

"What, that I'm a bastard?"

Severus felt his blood boil once more. He shot a mouth washing charm at the boy, watching with amused satisfaction as the boy looked at him with wide eyes before attempting to spit, which was impossible due to the nature of the charm. Mouthwash times ten for the brat. "Well, would we like to behave like a good little boy now or continue cursing like some uncouth hooligan?"

The boy scowled and gestured to his mouth. Severus nodded and ended the spell, taking the overwhelming aroma and suds but not the taste with it. "Yuck! Why did you do that?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "You are too bright to curse as you are doing, besides I do not curse, and I am an adult, so neither shall you."

"I am almost certain you called me a bloody idiot three times yesterday,"

Severus scowled. "Harry, I am warning you. One more curse word, and you will revisit my charm and my hand both."

The boy glared, and Severus noticed with not too little of satisfaction that it was his glare on the boy's face. "What, so now that I know…" the boy gestured between the two of them with vicious movements. Severus sighed internally at the teenage melodramatics. "that, you're going to act like I'm your son now?! Don't bother! You haven't been there for fifteen years, and you obviously don't want me, so please, just leave me the fuck alone!"

He grabbed his broom and stormed from the rooms, leaving behind a stunned Severus, who could only think, 'who said you were not wanted?'

He shook his head and then did it slower with more self-deprecation. "Well, that went well," he thought aloud cynically. "Take the boy to task, tell him you have no hate for him… yes, yes, I did… and finally tell him you think he is smart while you take him to task again… maybe not the best way… but then I have all my hopes and my work thrown back into my face before MY child storms off. And he cussed again… Really, Snape? Focus."

He wiped across his brow. Talking to himself was not a good sign of the sanity he was losing by having a teenager. He had not even been able to explain it to the boy, what had happened, how he had lost it all, how he had been promised so many things… He had no chance to apologize, and he had tried, almost… well, he was a Snape it was hard, especially since the boy had angered him so terribly. The boy was just like his father… unfortunately for everyone involved, that was Severus Snape.

XXX

Potions. Who decided he needed to have potions on a ruddy ass day like this? He just had to have potions today of all days. Snape… Merlin, he couldn't even think the name without blushing to the roots of his hair. He'd been… bloody spanked, like a sodding child. He was fifteen, and the man had SPANKED HIM with his hand too like he wasn't even old enough to take the belt! WELL, Harry had news for him, he could take the damn belt!

Now, granted, he had yelled at the man, but he'd almost KILLED him and then, well, saved him, but that didn't make the fall any less his fault. Yeah, he'd acted kinda bratty (like anyone wouldn't in his position), but to SPANK him? That was too… he wasn't his dad… well, he was, but he hadn't acted like it for fifteen years, besides saving his life and scolding him when he was being a prat and arrogant and making sure he wasn't a lazy sod…

So, yeah, he had kinda acted like a dad, but he hadn't done the other things (the more important ones in Harry's eyes). He hadn't been there to tell him he was okay after the troll or that just because he'd killed Quirrell, he wasn't bad or that being a Parselmouth didn't make him evil or that he was safe after he killed the Basilisk or protected him when Lucius Malfoy tried to kill him or protected him from his relatives or been there to protect Mum's honor from Marge or helped him with homework when he didn't understand it or told the Triwizard Tournament that Harry wasn't allowed to enter (and he could have too because he's… yeah, that) or helped him with his tasks rather than Harry having to steal from him or he sure as hell wouldn't have drugged him (or do potions masters drug their children when they lie… best not to find out).

Nope. He wasn't being a father. No, and just because Harry knew now didn't mean he should start, especially not with… spanking (that was a little kids punishment too!) He blushed hardest the thought as he, Ron, and Hermione walked into the potion classroom where Snape was very luckily not there yet because Harry was quite sure he could only conjure embarrassment at the moment.

He was angry too. Angry the man had knocked him off his broom, had dragged him around like a toddler and whacked him like one too, but what made him especially angry was the nerve of the man. For him to act like his father after everything he had put him through. No! Not allowed! No way! Some bloody prat wasn't allowed to act like his father.

The class finally began as Snape swooped in from his office like the big bat he was. Harry slumped farther down on his chair, hiding the blush at seeing Snape so soon after last night. His wounded pride was really hurting about now in the presence of the man that reminded his budding manliness that he was still a child. Snape did his usual glare around the room, but his gaze stopped on Harry longer than the others, but unlike usual it was with something other than pure loathing was in his eyes. Concern? Shite was that just now there or was it there the whole time and I never saw. No it was new. It had to be.

Snape was just acting like that so Harry didn't feel like even his own father hated him or to mess with his emotions which was such a Snape thing to do. Yeah, that had to be it, but maybe he did care about Harry's feelings… No, just stop thinking, Harry! Bloody help you're worse than Hermione.

He physically shook his head to clear it from the inner monologue and received a raised eyebrow from Snape for the action. He had to have looked out of it for a moment. He glared and sneered at the man, causing the man's glare to finally reach his eyes. Wrong move, his mind sneered.

"Potter, perhaps you are aware what this potion does?"

Potion? What potion? Shite, he was talking this whole time? What potion?

He looked up to the board and sighed in relief. He knew this one, surprisingly. He'd studied some after the Dementor attack had sent him to Grimmauld Place for a day or two before the school year. He had read ahead, which was unlike him, but he was quite bored and brooding this year. He had actually managed some time on his summer assignments, making them better than a troll but not exactly an exceeds expectations.

He heard the clearing of Ron's throat and blanked. Oh, yeah, he was asked a question. He blushed at the expectant look he received from Snape. Dammit he had only known a day and Snape already had a different effect on him. He would have been raging before, but now he felt too deterred by last night's punishment to let his anger slip.

"Um… it makes the drinker experience a sort of fire through their body as it burns away poison that can be snake venom, poison from potions, and some other poisons."

The surprise on his f… SNAPE'S face was almost funny until it was gone in the next instant, but Harry had seen the surprise he had given Snape, giving him a brief sense of achievement. Now though there was a glare on his lips with something else in those obsidian eyes. Harry hadn't even seen it much in his life but that didn't matter because he could tell what it was Mr. Weasley had it enough looking at his children… pride. Snape… Snape looked proud of his answer… of him. Shite, it was actually making him feel warm.

Stop! No! No feeling good at Snape's pride! Just no!

His body didn't listen and kept feeling good through the rest of the lesson, but then it was onto the practical of double potions, something Harry never looked forward to with Snape hovering. He knew he could do the potion, but then there was Malfoy who had been sabotaging his potions since first year, so even when he did well, it was ruined by the end and if Snape had known all this time well obviously he didn't care enough to stop the little snot. He shrugged knowing he was still going to try. Despite Snape, potions was still interesting as it was that first day when he wrote down every word of Snape's speech, but the lackluster enthusiasm was snuffed out that day.

This was the one class he understood when he could have some comparison from his muggle upbringing from chemistry, but the reason he sucked was lack of motivation to read the text. What would it change? Snape hated him, Malfoy sabotaged him, and he could never seem to write anything good enough for the man, so why even try?

He worked with Ron to get the ingredients, but they had to work separately on the potion, which to Harry was his silent relief when Ron always managed to make their potion botched with all his whining ruining Harry's mojo. He hated being interrupted, especially every two minutes, so they gathered their ingredients and went to their separate potions.

One thing hell… (cough), the Dursley's, had taught Harry was how to cut and prepare things since he was in all intents and purposes their house elf. Crushing fire beans and cutting up shrivilings of parts was nothing compared to making a stew for ten people (plus two being walruses). He made quick work of preparing all his ingredients while his cauldron heated up. He finished his preparations at the same time he needed to add his ingredients. He glanced at the steps in his book since he already knew the potion and began to work.

He stirred the ingredients with precision, closely watching his hands and the timing before he finished in a shorter amount of time than Hermione. The potion was red as the book said it should be with a hint of purple at the edges. He wasn't aware of anything being wrong until he saw a hand go to reach past him. He jumped at the hand coming from behind him with his brain shouting at him Too close! Too close!

He settled himself before turning to look up at the man who'd stopped mid-action hovering over him (like a vampire who Harry wondered if he needed to protect from his neck). Snape stood over him greedily looking at the potion. Harry shivered aware the man was standing right behind him, closer than anyone ever was allowed to get to him. Well, except for maybe… No, not going to think of that… Not here. Not with Snape in that place.

He wasn't even cruel enough to compare them in that way. Snape was cruel, Snape was a bastard, but he wouldn't… Merlin, please, no.

"Well, Potter, have we moved from failure to cheating, or have you managed to gain a few brain cells, enough to make a passable potion?"

Passable? Passable? It was it was bloody perfect, and Snape knew it, and fuck his blushing, fuck Snape and this new hold! He had made a goddamn perfect potion!

"It's perfect, sir, as I am sure you can tell."

He heard the whole room go silent, but it was true. He had made it perfectly, and more impressive, Hermione's even looked a little orange. "Arrogant as usual, Potter, and of course belligerent, but how could you not be? You are a spoiled little prince. I'm sure your relatives just fawn over the perfect Potter brat," the man spat.

That's when Harry felt the crack split him wide open from head to chest. His chest felt wide open and all the air he could take in was just leaking out of him and leaving him hollow. Aunt Petunia didn't fawn over him, Uncle Vernon wouldn't even touch him unless to beat him, and Dudley… He felt the bile rise in his throat. Fawn over him, was that what you called that? Fawn?

He shuddered, closing his eyes, imaging he was somewhere else anywhere else, that the thoughts in his head would just go away that maybe he could bleed those out too. The knife was just right there, the same knife he had used this morning, last night, the same knife he had used since what happened this summer… God, Merlin, he needed pain now!

"Fuck you," he said slowly, deliberately without a thought.

He felt his chest squeezing, choking him, clouding his mind with oxygen loss. His vision was getting blurry, and he was certain is wasn't from needing his glasses as he felt the tears hit his cheeks. His mind screamed complaints. Harry couldn't cry here in front of Snape, Slytherins, anyone. He felt his breath hitching all the way to his chest, and rather than staring defiantly as he would have liked to, he glared at the floor. He knew he had gotten ahead of himself. Yes, he had been angry, yes, he had wanted the man to pay, but now, how did he escape this scrutiny to get his release?

Run! (his rather panicked mind helpfully supplied)

In the next second, he found himself holding his knapsack to the table as he swiped his other shaking hand across the tabletop. His shaking caused the things to scatter across the floor and little resulted where he wanted them. Snape was still standing there, so Harry fixed his head up, intent on glaring the man into moving, but what he saw melted the glare instantly.


End file.
